The Comfort of Strangers
by Maddie
Summary: How did Lex get home after being dumped from his limo at the end of "Stray"?


_**Title: **_The Comfort of Strangers  
_**Author: **_Maddie  
**_Rating: _**PG  
**_Spoilers: _**"Stray"**_  
Archive: _** Yes, but please ask first. I like to know where they go.  
**_Feedback: _**Always appreciated  
**_Disclaimer: _**The characters and setting belong to someone else, only the plot is mine.  
**_Summary: _**So who really picked Lex up off the side of the road at the end of 'Stray"? And what did Clark think when (or if) he returned to the scene and found Lex gone?  
**_Author's Notes__: _**Thanks again to Rachel for the beta read. 

**** 

**_ The Comfort of Strangers_**  
By, Maddie 

  


Lex Luthor felt like he'd been thrown from car traveling too fast. 

He had been. 

Every inch of him ached as he struggled to push himself to a sitting position. Most of the skin was missing from the palms of his hands, he could feel blood beginning to ooze at every pressure point, his elbows, shoulders, hips, where the rough macadam had abraded flesh to raw meat even through his clothing. There was an grating sensation in his left elbow as he tried to move it. Searing pain shot up to his shoulder and down to his wrist. The fingers on his left hand tingled, the only part of his arm that didn't throb in time to his heartbeat. There must be nerve damage in his elbow or shoulder, he thought dully. He flexed his fingers trying to coax the sensation away; knowing full well it would be replaced with more pain. He felt like he'd been bludgeoned in a dozen places, starting with the center of his chest where Gibson had forcefully jammed his sawed off shotgun, and including his ribs, his knees, and even his ass. For some reason known only to God, he hadn't hit his head. Although he had been stunned when he hit the ground, he hadn't lost consciousness. He almost wished he had. He groaned softly. No need for a Luthor brand stiff upper lip. No one along this god-forsaken stretch of highway was going to see or hear him. 

An ethereal rush of wind shivered through the fog around him. What? Lex thought, registering the odd breeze through his haze of pain. Then a feather light touch rested on his shoulder. 

"Lex, you okay?" Clark's voice asked tentatively. 

Lex was startled to hear the boy's voice in his ear, but he tried not to show his surprise. "Yeah, I think so." Lex stifled a groan, wondering vaguely how Clark had managed to soundlessly appear out of the night. He hadn't heard a car approach, but was glad someone was here, wishing he could simply collapse and ask for help. 

"Which way did they go?" Clark asked. 

"Straight down Route 90." Lex carefully sucked in a breath before he continued. "Clark, they've got Ryan. Get some help." Again he felt a hesitant hand brush across his shoulders as though smoothing the rumpled fabric of his dress jacket. The brush of Clark's fingertips, too light to offer anything but the suggestion of comfort, was followed by the sound of receding footsteps. 

Lex let his breath hiss out between clenched teeth. His only friend had appeared, then disappeared and once again he was alone. A solitary figure, by the side of a dark, deserted highway, in the middle of Kansas, sitting like a worthless sack of something less than human. He smothered the urge to laugh hysterically. Was this anything new? Crossing his legs stiffly, he dropped his chin to his chest, and his eyes closed again, suddenly overcome with a wave of nausea. Cradling his injured arm against his stomach, he slowly rocked forward, falling back on a form of self-comfort he had indulged in as a child when he was hurt and had no one to turn to. It had been a long time since he'd assumed this pose. Taking several deep breaths he willed his stomach to calm. When he thought he could control his breathing and his voice he fumbled in his pocket searching for his cell phone only to come up empty. 

**** 

"It's Kansas, John," said the dark-haired woman. "It's not a foreign country." 

"Well, I think I've seen enough Kansas to last for a while," answered her companion as he steered their vehicle down the foggy highway, his concentration focused on the dotted yellow line. "What can we really say about Kansas? It's flat. It's lonely. What was the name of that town we were supposed to spend the night in?" 

"Smallville," she said, smiling. 

"Smallville? Can we add that it's also not very creative?" 

She could almost hear the resignation in his voice. 

"They do always send us to the quaintest places don't they?" he continued 

"It does seem to be part of the job description." she responded, trying not to sound too amused. She had taken a small penlight out of the glove compartment to examine the map folded neatly in her hand. "It really isn't that much farther down this road. We get off at exit three, then take a few confusing side roads." 

This time John did sigh. 

"Really, John, Smallville doesn't appear to be that small. It has several motels and hotels, dining accommodations, a busy agricultural market, as well as a larger than average retail area downtown, a LuthorCorp fertilizer plant on the outskirts of town. And the people seem to be the right mix of small town and country." 

"In other words gullible and easily duped," he commented sarcastically. 

"John, that's a bit harsh. But, yes, perhaps. Judging from the number of 'supposed' oddities that have occurred in this town in the past few years it's hard to tell who is imagining what. We can't be sure how many of these incidents were faked or how many were real, but exaggerated out of proportion. It's the number of occurrences that's unusual. But we're just spending the night, remember. We need to be in Kansas City in the morning." At that moment she glanced out of the window. "John?" She didn't mean to sound alarmed, but knew she had. Her hand shot out to grab the fabric of her companion's coat sleeve. 

He responded immediately by applying the brake and slowing their vehicle slightly. "What?" he asked, suddenly alert. 

"I swear I saw someone sitting by the side of the road. I couldn't be sure. It could have just as easily been a dark bag or old piece of fabric, but I swear it was a human." She strained her eyes, peering into the rear view mirror, but the fog obscured everything more than 25 feet behind them. "John, could we--" 

"--please turn around and check," he finished her sentence for her, even as he pulled off onto the berm. 

"Yes. Whoever it was might need help." 

She heard John sigh more loudly this time. "I'll have to find a place to turn around." 

**** 

Lex looked up when he heard the vehicle pass. Damn, he thought. He had not reacted quickly enough and was too late. Too late to do what he wasn't certain. Signal for help, and hope they'd stop? Or, and he laughed to himself again, hitchhike? Now that would be a Luthor first. And sitting by the side of the road on his ass wasn't? He figured he had two options, he could wait and hope Clark sent help, or start walking. Provided, of course, he could even walk. He was, by his calculations, halfway between Smallville and Metropolis. Did he continue on and meet dear old Dad, or just start walking back to the mansion. Daddy Dearest was going to be pissed one way or the other, and assume he was intentionally being late to spite him, or simply not coming for the same reason. Either way Lionel was certain to take it personally. 

He started to straighten, made one brief attempt to stand up, only to be overcome by a wave of nausea and dizziness. Maybe he had hit his head. He settled back to the ground, legs crossed, his head held in his right hand, his left arm cautiously folded against his middle. The dull throbbing from a dozen injuries had increased in intensity until his entire body screamed. The initial shock was wearing off and the pain building in intensity. 

He did not react when the darkly colored car stopped in the opposite lane. A whisper of perfume, and a gentle hand on his shoulder caused him to look up. A dark-haired woman was kneeling next to him, concern etched on her face. Her lips moved, but at first he did not register what she was saying. 

"Are you all right?" 

"Yeah," Lex started to say. Then he shook his head. "No, not really." 

"What happened? Was it a hit and run accident." 

Lex shook his head, not certain he could talk any more. 

"Why would he be dressed like that and walking along the road in the middle of the night?" The question came from a man, who appeared out of the fog behind the woman. 

"John," she said admonishingly. "Save the suspicions for later. This man needs help. Grab my cell phone and call 911." 

"No," Lex's good hand shot out and grabbed the woman's arm. He tried to focus on her face. "I just need to get back to my house. I have a doctor on call." 

"Doctor on call?" It was the man, John, talking again, his voice dripping sarcasm. "Who actually has their own doctor on call at this hour." 

"John!" The woman admonished him, this time in a stronger, harsher voice. "Look at his clothes. This may have been an aborted kidnapping. We don't know the circumstances, but we do need to help." Speaking to Lex, her voice softened. "Can you stand and walk to the car." 

Lex nodded yes then began to stand. He was halfway to his feet before he was overcome with another wave of nausea. He doubled over, as his stomach lurched. The woman's arms gently circled him from behind, offering support as his stomach emptied what little it held on the dark asphalt. Swaying, he would have collapsed again had her arms not steadied him. Under other circumstances he might have been embarrassed, not that Luthors ever admitted embarrassment, or refused her assistance. But the woman, whoever she was, was not clucking with false sympathy, she was simply there, supportive, but not intrusive. When he was able to walk she gently guided him to their car, and eased him into the back seat. Not what he was accustomed to by any means, the rear of the vehicle seemed cramped, yet oddly secure. 

The woman slipped into the seat next to him, carefully making sure she did not crowd him. "We were on our way to Smallville. Is there a hospital or a clinic we can take you too." 

"No," Lex answered curtly; noting the woman was not intimidated by his tone. Softening his voice, he tried harder to mask his pain before he spoke again. "I don't think the hospital is necessary. I live on the outskirts of town. If you can take me there, you'll be rewarded for your trouble." 

"No, trouble. Just direct us." The woman's face was shadowed by the darkness, but her manner was reassuring. 

"Keep going down 90 in this direction," Lex started to explain. 

"'Get off at exit three, then take a few confusing side roads,'" their driver, John, finished for him. 

"Yes," Lex answered noting the dry cynicism in the man's voice. "You said you had a cell phone?" Lex asked. 

The woman reached into the front seat and grabbed her cell, switching it on and handing it to Lex. 

Working against the aching stiffness in his hands, Lex painstakingly dialed the number to the mansion. 

"Lex Luthor's residence," said the voice at the end of the line. 

"Edward," Lex tried to keep his voice steady. "Please try to contact Toby. Tell him I need him. Tonight. If he's unavailable, call Dr. Andrus." 

"Yes, Mr. Luthor. Are you all right?" 

No, he thought, I'm just asking Toby to come over for a drink. "Nothing serious, Edward. Call Toby just to be on the safe side." 

He closed the phone and handed it over to its owner. 

"You should report this incident to the police," she said. 

Lex nodded. "I think it's already been done." 

**** 

While he used her cell phone, she quickly assessed the stranger's condition. Although obviously injured, he was alert and aware of his surroundings. She had seen the damage done to his hands and the way he cradled his left arm to his middle. There were probably less obvious bruises and abrasions as well. Out of professional habit, she made other mental observations about the young man. Although his demeanor made him appear much older and more refined, she estimated his age as in his early twenties. And while he was undoubtedly in pain, his face remained controlled and emotionless as though to admit injury would be to admit weakness. His clothing was richly tailored, implying sufficient wealth to lavish on the best wardrobe. She imagined, under other circumstances, that the clothes were worn with the casual air of one accustomed to only the best. 

Which made the fact that he was abandoned by the side of a dark, almost deserted highway, all the more curious. She questioned his reluctance to involve the authorities, although she was not going to be as blatant about her mistrust as her companion was. Yes, there was every possibility that this stranger was involved in illicit dealings and was paying the price for his indiscretions. Giving him the benefit of the doubt, she also conceded that he might be nothing more than an innocent victim afraid to become involved with whomever perpetrated this incident. Blackmail, an aborted kidnapping, a drug deal gone bad, she rolled the standard scenarios through her mind. 

There was something about this young man that was naggingly familiar? She couldn't quite put her finger on his identity, and yet the knowledge seemed to linger just at the edge of her memory. She should know, of that she was certain. Her mind quickly rattled off the names of the young, rich and possibly famous that fit his age group. None of whom she remembered lived this far out in the middle of, well, the middle of Kansas. This part of the state did seem like the back yard of nowhere. She wasn't going to admit it to John, but like him, she half expected to see Toto, Dorothy and Miss Gulch peddling down Route 90, rapidly approaching Smallville. 

So who was he and where did he belong? 

"Is there anyone else we need to notify?" she asked cautiously. "Family?" 

"No." he answered curtly. 

"Friends?" 

He nodded negatively. 

Although he showed little emotion, his aloofness spoke volumes. This was a man who relied on no one. Gently, she touched his forearm. "Let us help," she said simply. 

There was an oddly curious look in his eyes when he turned to study her. As though she proposed an idea that was totally foreign to him. 

"Thank you," he answered softly, and he sounded truly appreciative. "You've already done more than enough." 

As they pulled off Route 90, the young man stirred from his silence long enough to give John precise directions to their destination. As they approached along the winding driveway, she had to admit she was stunned. She heard an appreciative whistle from the driver's seat that let her know she wasn't the only one who was surprised. Spread before them, light blazing from windows steeped in medieval grandeur, was a sight plucked straight from a fairy tale. It wasn't simply a house, or even a mansion, it was, as her partner would say, a Goddamn castle. 

"Home?" she asked their passenger. 

"You could call it that," he answered, a touch of sarcasm in his voice. 

And it was then, his identity came to her, when she saw the crest on the security gate. This mansion belonged to the Luthor family. Damned coincidental that they happened to pick up its owner in the middle of no where. 

**** 

It was three hours before Clark guiltily returned to where he had found, and then left, Lex. He had been so concerned about Ryan; he'd almost forgotten his friend. The ambulance was on its way, but he wanted to arrive before it did. He came to a screaming halt where he thought Lex would be, but there was no Lex. A moment of irrational fear clutched at Clark's heart, his stomach rolling with dread. Where had Lex gone? Clark hesitated for a moment, debating which direction to go, then turned toward the Luthor's mansion. 

**** 

When Clark was finally ushered in to Lex's house, he found two strangers sitting in his library, but there was no sign of Lex. They studied him with the same curious intensity he had often seen in Chloe's eyes when she was really anxious to investigate her latest 'scoop.' He wondered absently if they were news reporters. 

"Are you a friend of Mr. Luthor's?" the dark-haired woman asked, breaking the silence. 

Clark nodded. 

"Do you have any idea what happened?" 

Clark hesitated, not wanting to reveal information Lex would prefer to keep from the press. "I'm not sure I'm supposed to talk about it. It's Lex's business and I don't know you." 

"I'm sorry," the woman said, extending her hand, a warm smile on her face. "We picked your friend up, and brought him home. He was injured, but he didn't say how. We wondered if the police needed to be notified." 

Her words were not meant to sting, but they twisted the knife of guilt deeper. He was Lex's friend, and he had deserted him. Strangers had shown more concern than he had. "I called the police." 

"Do you know what happened?" 

"Lex's limo was car-jacked by a couple of career criminal types. I guess they dumped him. I don't know all the details. But they've been caught. It will all be in the newspaper tomorrow." 

The woman seemed to visibly relax as she cast her companion an 'I told you so' look. Clark wondered who they were and why it was so important to her to know how Lex had been injured. 

"Look," he said, "I came to check on Lex. How is he?" 

The woman shrugged. "He seems to have assorted minor injuries. But nothing critical." 

"I," Clark started to say then paused, not certain how to proceed. "I wanted to thank you." 

"Thank?" 

"Yes, for helping. I...I couldn't." Clark stumbled, unable to explain away the gnawing feeling of responsibility. What hurt wasn't simply the fact that he'd left Lex to help Ryan, because he knew Lex would understand that. What hurt was the fact that he was so absorbed in Ryan's fate, he'd almost neglected his best friend. 

Before he could deepen the pit of guilt and truly begin to wallow, the entrance of Lex's sometimes-personal physician, Toby, interrupted them. Toby eyed the trio, who eyed him back, then pointing at the woman said simply, "He wants to see you." As she stood up to leave, Toby added, "I've given him something for the pain. He'll be asleep soon." 

Clark stepped forward hesitantly and touched Toby's arm. "How bad?" 

"Minor cuts. Abrasions. Bruises. No concussion. Might have a bone chip in that elbow. I don't carry a portable x-ray so he'll have to go to the hospital in the morning whether he likes it or not. Or have the damned hospital brought to him. Now if you'll excuse me young man, I'd like to accept my meager payment and be on my way." 

Toby pushed past Clark, retrieved a brown bag from the desk, then slipped out of the room without further words. Clark noticed that the other man was eyeing Toby with distrust, but remained silent. 

**** 

She sat in the chair next to the bed. He stirred softly when he sensed her presence, and opened eyes that were beginning to glaze from the effects of the painkillers. His hands had been neatly bandaged, his left arm supported by a temporary brace, scrapes and cuts that had been concealed by clothing, evident in the subdued light of the room. He seemed very pale against the bedclothes, and she gently laid one hand on his uninjured arm. 

"I wanted to thank you," Lex murmured. 

"You already have." 

"No, I needed to thank you. Most people wouldn't have stopped." 

"You needed help. We helped. Anyone else would have done the same." 

"You didn't know who I am." 

"It wouldn't have mattered." 

A sardonic little smile touched his lips. "I think you would find that around here it does." Lex's eyes drifted shut, and then he slowly dragged them open again. 

"There's a young man downstairs who seems quite concerned about you," she said softly. 

"Tall, dark-haired." 

"Yes," 

A smile touched Lex's lips, more genuine than she'd seen before. 

"Shall I send him up?" she asked. 

"No. Just tell him I'm okay and to take good care of Ryan." Lex's eyes drifted shut a second time. 

She stood to leave, then struck by a sudden odd urge, gently adjusted the bed coverings, tucking them around his still form, and bent to lightly kiss him on the forehead. She wasn't sure why she did, except he looked like it hadn't happened often enough. Turning to leave, she was startled to hear his voice one more time. 

"You never told me your name," he whispered. 

She smiled. "Monica. My name is Monica." She turned the light out as she left. 

**_(end)_**

  


**_Endnote: _**Okay, I didn't want to say it was a crossover, because I didn't want anyone guessing who the two strangers were, but it made sense that John Doggett and Monica Reyes might just be passing through Kansas on a dark foggy night. I don't normally write X-files fic so I might have their characters all wrong. 


End file.
